


delirium in the deep roads

by ferbiedragon



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-11-01 23:34:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20545805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferbiedragon/pseuds/ferbiedragon
Summary: Hawke makes poor choices, sometimes.Living with that is difficult.





	delirium in the deep roads

_[dəˈlirēəm]_

NOUN

an acutely disturbed state of mind that occurs in fever, intoxication, and other disorders and is characterized by restlessness, illusions, and incoherence of thought and speech.

They say that the Deep Roads stretch the entirety of Thedas, reaching out even beneath the Waking Sea to places so far, not even the dwarves ever knew where they ended.

It's the sort of thing that seems like legend but, after three weeks of traversing their depths, Marian Hawke is inclined to believe it.

Well. If she were in a state to really believe anything, currently.

"Damn." Anders' voice is close to her ear. "Andraste's _flaming_ knickers, it's spread so fast- bring the light, hurry-" the stone of the floor is cold and hard against her back and she hears the sound of someone walking closer. Crouching down.

How did she end up on the floor? That's so strange. She doesn't really make it a habit of lying down on stone, as a general rule.

"I am here." Fenris sounds tired, though not as much as Anders. "Do not tarry, mage."

"I'm not tarrying, dammit." Hawke becomes aware of someone tugging at the armored chestpiece she wears, fiddling with the straps. "It's mangled, Maker's balls, how did she hide this for so long?"

"Move." a stronger touch replaces the other, and she feels the 'click' as the clasps of her armor open and the piece is removed. Cool, stale air brushes the deep wound in her side and she hisses in pain.

"Spiders." she groans out. Her voice sounds strange, all weak and breathless. "Always spiders."

"You should have told us, Hawke." Anders has this fascinating ability to sound exactly like her mother sometimes. "How long has this been festering?"

"Oh, _time_." Hawke lifts a hand and waves it lazily, or tries to; mostly it just flops about. What she means, of course, is that she has no idea, because who can tell the time down here without the sun and moon and stars, anyway? But it's hard to articulate that when she's being thoroughly ravaged by what feels like the world's coldest fever. "Carver was..."

She trails off. 'Carver was' what? It's hard to remember why, precisely, she didn't mention the wound, after their last encounter with giant spiders. She thinks it has something to do with her brother. Something about him being worse off, perhaps? It's something to think about, as her brain bakes.

"Carver." she repeats. There's something in her stomach when she says her name. Something like dread. "Where..." she can't remember. He really ought to be close by. She remembers telling him to stay close, but he never does do what he's told. Not when she's the one doing the telling, anyway.

"He..." Anders hesitates, which Hawke doesn't take as a good sign at all. If she had the energy, she might panic. As it is, the best she can do is start to sit up, and she feels like she's making decent progress, until pain lances up her side like fire and she has to lie back.

Her head doesn't bounce on the stone like she thinks it should. Now that she thinks about it, there's definitely someone else close by. She has to think very hard to decide who it could be.

"Varric?" she concludes, after a moment. She smells leather and ink, underneath the stink of the Deep Roads.

"Hawke." He greets her, sounding calm, which is nice.

She hadn't known he was close by. Hawke finds herself a little confused by this sudden discovery, enough that she stops thinking about Carver.

"Junior's fine. We found the Wardens, remember?" he chuckles. She can feel that sound. "Shit. If you'd seen Stroud's mustache, you'd remember."

"Stroud..." that names rings a bell. She remembers a voice, heavy and Orlesian, 

_“If the boy comes, he comes now, and you may not see him again…”_

and Carver, her brother's breathing, wheezing and rasping as he's pulled away and she- 

"Oh." she says. "...shit."

"Yeah." Varric agrees. "Don't worry about it, Giggles."

"Mm." that's easier said than done, of course. Or maybe not. It's relatively easy to drift away, really, back and forth between the dark that is her lack of sight and the faint glimmer of light which is the Fade, and her dreams. It's a struggle to focus again, but when she does manage it, they're speaking again.

"...need to burn out the poison but we're low on lyrium potions." she hears Anders murmuring. His fingers are prodding at her injured side, poking, feeling, and she knows they're his because he's healed her enough times for her to recognize the calloused fingers on her skin. It hurts. She flinches away.

"Make it work." Fenris snaps. "We cannot let her die here."

"Not from a spider bite, anyway." Varric sounds like he's trying to joke, but his voice is strained and she doesn't like it. She guesses she can't blame him, after all, his brother did lock them in a thaig over a bit of treasure. "Ruins the story."

"Spiders." she says aloud, like she's just made a terrific discovery. She feels like she's said it before. Recently, in fact. "I hate spiders. It's always... spiders." and then she laughs, softly, because it seems funny, for reasons she cannot really understand at the moment.

"Yeah, Hawke. I'm not a fan, either." Varric says. She knew he would understand. He always knows what she means. He's good like that, her favorite dwarf. To someone else- Anders, she assumes- he says, "Blondie, how bad?"

"The poison is relatively mild." the healer answers. "But the bite is infected. She's got a fever."

"That explains the laughter." Varric mutters.

"Garrett's going to be so put out," Hawke sing-songs weakly. "He'll be so... should I have brought him? He loves killing spiders. He always, when we were younger..." she trails off. "Spider guts." she decides. "It's the guts that are the worst."

"He’ll be more upset if you die here, Hawke." Fenris mutters. Like he has any right to sound so annoyed when he's so stubborn himself. Like he hasn't neglected to mention being hurt before. She very politely doesn't mention the thorn in his foot he let get terribly infected before grudgingly allowing Anders to heal it, and only with Aveline strong-arming him into it. 

"I," Hawke says, "I don't get to die. That's not how it works. I have to live, see, with all the terrible shitty bad... choices..." she falls silent, and so do they, and she realizes, belatedly, that she hadn't meant to say all that aloud. She groans. "Maker, stop _staring_."

"Hawke." Anders sighs. "Alright. I'm going to try and heal this."

"You got enough for that, Blondie?"

"No. But there's no other option."

"He can leave it." Hawke laughs. She doesn't know why she's laughing, or why she's so sad. All of the sudden, all she can think of is Carver, nailing Bethany's braid to the bed, and then not knowing why he'd done it, and then she'd had to show Beth how to cut a hole in his pants since it was only fair. "I won't die. I never die. I don't get to." she starts to move.

"Hold still, Hawke." Fenris growls.

"Hawke. Giggles, relax." Varric's holding her, she realizes. When she fell, he must have caught her, kept her from hitting the ground. He's got her pillowed in his lap. "We're gonna get you out of here."

"Hah... promise?" she can't stop laughing. It's all so stupid, all of this, fuck. She hates this. Another one of her shitty decisions and Carver is gone, and he hates her anyway and he used to love her and, fuck, "Because that's a lot to do. I'm... impossible, mostly..."

"Hey, come on, now. Did you forget who you're talking to?" he chuckles. She hears the faint pop of a cork coming off a bottle, and smells lyrium. Anders is drinking one of their remaining potions, she thinks. "I guess you missed it, Giggles, but I make impossible shit happen all the time. It's what I do."

"Hold her, Fenris." Anders says. His voice sounds fuzzy at the edges, a little. She feels strong arms anchor her legs, her torso."Hawke, this might hurt. I'm running on fumes, Justice might sneak in-"

"Have at it!" she laughs. Cries. She's crying now. Maker, why is she crying? "I'm invincible. Unfortunately."

"I dunno, Hawke." Varric murmurs. "I think we're all pretty damn happy you're around."

Then Anders puts his hands to the bite on her side, and she _screams_ and the world turns white.

==

_  
Hawke plunges down, and the Fade rises to meet her._

_"It always happens this way." she says. She's sitting on the fence that surrounds the garden, and she’s ten again, watching her father digging turnips out of the dark Ferelden soil. Their home in Lothering is, as always, exactly as she remembers. Even down to the cow grazing in the sparse field nearby. Her name is Millie and she’s better at kicking than giving milk, but they get by. “Every time, I swear. It’s getting old, da.”_

_“Tell me about it.” Malcolm Hawke sighs and leans back, wiping sweat from his brow. “Maker, I hate turnips. Why does your mother insist we grow them?”_

_“It’s either that or potatoes.” Marian says, swinging her feet. “And those aren’t ready yet. But I’m not talking about turnips, da. I mean- me. Making choices. Bad ones. I think,” she leans back and sighs. “I think it’s a curse.”_

_“Mm, if it is, it’s my fault.” her father says, examining the pile of vegetables he’s managed to extricate so far. “I’m afraid I’m not known for my good decision either, lambkin. Aside from sweeping your mother off her feet and coming to Ferelden, I’ve made very few choices that ended for the better.”_

_“I could argue that one wasn’t a great decision either,” Marian tilts her head, “Since it ended with me getting born in the first place.” she knows as soon as she says it that it’s the wrong thing, that her da won’t take it as a joke, like she’d hoped it sounded. He looks up at her, and she flinches and turns her head away. “Calm down, da. It’s a joke.” she tries. “Ha-ha, you know?”_

_“Not ‘ha-ha’.” Malcolm stands, groaning as his knees pop. He walks over to her, and she can’t look him in the eyes when he stops in front of her. “Mari, poppet, I don’t like hearing you say that.”_

_“Yes, well.” she sniffs. “I don’t like burning my little brother, but that’s happened, so I think I ought to be allowed to say what I want.”_

_“Marian.” he strokes her hair lightly. “That wasn’t your fault, lambkin. Carver just got too excited.” _

_“He’s two.” she lifts a hand to wipe her eyes. She’s not quite crying yet, but she’s close. “He just wanted to see the pretty fire, and I- I should’ve controlled it better.”_

_“He’s alright.” Malcolm assures her. “He’s fine, poppet, I promise you. Just a little mark on his hand. It wasn’t your fault.” _

_Her face falls. She starts to cry in earnest now, and her father sighs, and pulls her from the fence, hugging her to his chest. He holds her while she cries, murmuring gently to her as she does. _

_“It’s alright to be upset. I’d be afraid if you weren’t.” he tells her softly. “It was an accident. None of us blame you. Carver won’t, either. He probably won’t even remember.” _

_“I just- want- to protec-tect him-” she sobs into his shoulder. _

_“You will. This was just a hiccup.” he rubs her back in soothing circles. “And he’ll learn from this too, just as well as you will. Believe it or not, lambkin, it’s important for toddlers to learn that fire is hot, sooner or later.”_

_She wheezes. “Da…”_

_“Think of it that way! You taught him something new.” he chuckles. Then he sighs. “...I know it’s hard, Mari. You and Garrett are the eldest, and you’re the only one with magic so far. You have more to learn, more to control. But that just means you’ll be better able to protect them all.”_

_Marian sniffles, and considers this. “...even Garrett?” she asks, meekly._

_“Possibly. I think the two of you probably get into enough trouble that he’ll learn quite a bit, too.” he adjusts his hold on her. “Why just the other day, he was asking if he could learn to use a sword from Ser Peritan…”_

_“Garrett with a sword.” she pulls back and wipes her eyes. “That’s really scary, da. Um- put me down?”_

_“There we are.” Malcolm sets her on her feet, and watches as she wipes her face. He pets her head gently. “It’ll be alright, lambkin, I promise. Whatever choices you make, you’ll always do your best with what comes after.” _

_She smiles, and nods, and the memory starts to turn fuzzy at the edges. _

_Two years later, she loses her sight, and it becomes more difficult to believe the things her father told her. She’s glad the Fade doesn’t choose to show her that now, though. _

==

When she wakes, Hawke’s mouth tastes like moss and dirt. She wishes she could say it was the first time that had happened.

She lies still for a few moments, trying to let what senses she does have come back to her. She thinks she’s lying on a bedroll, and there’s a blanket over her. Her side is stiff with bandages, but she feels considerably more lucid than she did before, so she assumes Anders managed to remove the poison, or the fever, or both, which is good. 

The faint echo of air in a wide, enclosed space, and the reek of deep mushrooms and stone, tells her that they’re still in the Deep Roads. She hears the faint dripping of water off a stalactite. She thinks they must be near a source of water. 

Which is good because, as stated, her mouth tastes gross.

She also hears very faint snoring. After three weeks, she can identify it as Anders. She doesn’t hear Fenris- she hard ever does unless he moves, he’s like a damned cat sometimes- but she does take notice of the faint scratch of a steel nib on parchment. 

“Varric,” she says, both as a way of identification and, also, to get his attention. It works; the scratching stops. “I think my breath could kill a bronto right now.”

There’s a faint laugh from beside her, and she hears him shifting. His voice sounds close when he says, “Yeah, I’ll take your word for it.”

“Water?” she requests. “Not to order you about, but…”

“No, no, please. I am but a humble servant.” her stands and steps away, rummages through something- their packs, she thinks- and returns. He puts a waterskin in her hands. “Well, more of a writer than a servant, but we do serve the people all the same…”

She uncaps the top of the waterskin and drinks deeply, sighing with relief. “Careful, Varric, your ego’s getting so big even I can see it.”

“Hm. Barely awake a minute and already making fun of your trusty dwarf.” he sighs dramatically and sits beside her. “And here I was, valiantly chronicling our escapades in the Deep Roads…”

“Leave out the spider part.” Hawke advises. 

“Nah, that stuff sells. I did make it so you were injured defending Broody from death, though.” he’s smirking. She knows he is. “And hid it from us to conserve healing for the others.”

“Hah, that’s… way more heroic than what I was actually doing. Which was being stupid.” she lifts a hand and rubs her face. “Maker. Anders and Fenris?”

“Resting.” Varric responds. “Finally. Well, Blondie went down like a sack of turnips after he healed you… you know, after his glowing friend made an appearance.”

“Mm.” every time Justice takes over, Hawke can see him, all cracked and glowing blue. She’s not sorry she missed it this time; it always hurts. 

“Broody, though, that took some convincing. You’ll be happy to know,” he puts his hand to his chest, “that I talked him into ‘just resting his eyes’ for a second.” he cackles, softly. “He’s been out like a light for hours now.”

“You’re devious. I love it.” Hawke sighs, softly, and relaxes into the bedroll. They say nothing for several long moments, and it’s almost peaceful, before Varric clears his throat.

“So, Hawke.”

“Oh dear.”

“Don’t worry. Too much.” he scratches his chin, fingers rasping over his scruff. It’s probably closer to a beard than he normally likes. Not really much time for shaving down here. Maker, Anders must look like a porcupine by now. “You… probably don’t wanna talk about it-”

“Good instincts.”

“But,” he continues, “I feel like you kind of owe us an explanation.” he pauses. “Or at least me, since I’m awake.”

“Varric.” she groans. “It’s… dumb. You don’t want to know, you really don’t. Go with your idea, I was trying to save healing for the rest of you. That sounds better.”

“Hawke, I can only bend the truth when I know what the truth is.”

“That’s a lie. You’re a terrible, hairy little liar.”

“I don’t deny it.” he cackles. “But you’re dodging the question. What’s the idea behind hiding your wound?”

“I,” she says, and then stops, because explaining it is hard. Mostly because it’s really dumb. Really, really dumb. “...I forgot it was there.”

“Hawke.”

“No, really!” she laughs, weakly. “I really did. I was going to mention it, but then Carver took a blow, and then he was all Blighty-” she swallows hard. “I got distracted, alright, my brother was dying, and we needed to find the Wardens, so I just sort of… forgot to mention it.”

He’s silent while he considers this. Then he sighs. “...shit, Hawke, that really is stupid.”

“I know.”

“I could never write that down. Nobody would believe it.”

“They wouldn’t, at all. It’s impossibly dumb.” 

“My readers are gullible sometimes, but…” Varric sighs. “...I guess I’ll stick to my version, then.”

“Thank you.” she nods. “Glad that’s decided. How far off from the surface are we, do you think?”

“Maybe another day or two of travel. Three, if you need to take it slow. Which you won’t.” she can hear the disapproval behind the fondness in his tone. “Don’t ask me how I know, exactly. The map isn’t too specific about exits, but it... feels close.”

“Oh, Varric, look at you, reclaiming your… what do dwarves call it. Rock-head?”

“Stone sense. Capital ‘S’. And don’t say that.” he grumbles. 

“Well, good, anyway. We can get moving again as soon as The Glowing Duo are ready to go.” 

“And as soon as Blondie clears you.” Varric pauses, and then she feels his hand on her shoulder, all broad and heavy. “...do me a favor, Hawke.”

“I make no promises,” Hawke hums. “Most of the favors people ask me to do are violent.”

“This one isn’t. Might be impossible for you, though.”

“Varric, didn’t you know?” she grins. “I make impossible shit happen all the time.”

“Right, right.” he laughs softly. “...just… try to pay attention from now on, alright? Speak up when you’re hurt.”

“No problem. I’ll wail like a wyvern whenever I so much as stub my toe, understood.”

“And,” he adds, his tone quiet, more firm. “...try not to blame yourself for everything bad that happens. Enough people will do that already. Trust me, I know.”

Hawke falls silent. She lies on her back, and thinks of Carver, somewhere far away, dead, or becoming a Warden and dying anyway, just slower. She thinks of Bethany, battered to pieces by an ogre. She thinks of Garrett, and Mother, waiting at home for word, and how she’ll have to tell them that another Hawke is gone, and-

She swallows hard. “...I’ll try.” she murmurs. 

It’s the best she can offer. Varric squeezes her shoulder a little and she knows, for now, that it’s enough.


End file.
